


honored

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bath Sex, Bathroom Sex, Blood and Injury, Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalism, Creampie, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Knotting, M/M, Male Lactation, Mating Bites, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Omega Will Graham, Post Mpreg, Scent Kink, Top Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: "I understand why you need to do this," he tells Hannibal one day, over eggs and coffee, a heating pad held between his thighs. "But I don't think I can join you."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 53
Kudos: 580
Collections: Hannigram Kinkmeme





	honored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exarite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/gifts).



> Kinkmeme prompt: Will has a miscarriage, Hannibal wants to eat the fetus.

Will bleeds for six days after they lose her.

It hadn't been anyone's fault. That's what the doctors told them. The official cause had been preeclampsia, despite Hannibal monitoring Will's health religiously. It was sudden. One heavy bloom of blood in the middle of the night and five hours later they were being told she couldn't be saved.

He'd still had to give birth to her. Had to go through labor to push out her undeveloped body. A stillbirth, technically, too late in term to be classified as a miscarriage. They offered to bring her to them in what was essentially a casket and Hannibal had almost ripped them to shreds at the mere suggestion.

Hannibal had claimed her body, after he'd gotten Will home and sedated so that he would sleep. His mate has always been especially resilient, and so far hasn't behaved in a way that Hannibal would call unreasonable. He's lethargic, pale from blood loss, sore from giving birth. Tactile, desperate to have Hannibal touch him and purr to him late at night and doing nothing to hide the sorrow and anger when it threatens to take him.

Above all else, he needs to know that Hannibal still loves him. Of course he does. Hannibal adores Will with every fiber of his being, and this is a tragedy, an unfortunate turn of circumstances that neither of them could have prevented. Hannibal would never blame Will for that.

Will knows what's in the basin at the bottom of their fridge. It's covered in black plastic, so he can't see inside, but he knows.

"I understand why you need to do this," he tells Hannibal one day, over eggs and coffee, a heating pad held between his thighs. "But I don't think I can join you."

Hannibal nods, overwhelmed with relief that there are no tears in Will's eyes when he says it. If nothing else, Will's empathy cannot shatter in the wake of tragedy. It thrives in it; he understands. He knows that this is how Hannibal deals with powerful emotions; loss, heartbreak, a desperate bid for control in this wild world.

"I can save it for when you're not home," he suggests.

Will's lips twitch in a tired smile, his eyes shining beneath heavy lids and above dark, dark circles. "No," he says, and takes Hannibal's hand. Squeezes, gently. "No, that's okay. Just make me something else."

Hannibal kisses his knuckles, and gives him another nod of thanks.

The first thing he does is strip her delicate flesh from her bones. Her skull was almost fully grown, her limbs that odd stunted shape as the rest of her tried to solidify in preparation to enter the world. He tenderly opens her belly, taking out the half-formed organs, clips and removes the nails from her fingers, liquifies the eyes with egg yolks and coconut flakes to make quindins. He cuts her flesh into strips and bakes them with a crust of parmesan and rosemary.

He boils her bones down to make stock, straining it with loving care, and removes her skull, separating her lower jaw to let the pieces dry. Her over-sharp canines hint that she would have been an alpha, had she lived to enter the world properly.

He sighs, thinking of Mischa. They hadn't gotten around to discussing names, yet, and that seems like a small mercy, but he cannot help calling her that in his head. He doesn't mention it to Will, sure that his mate's all-seeing eyes would uncover opinions and reasoning that Hannibal is too raw to confront.

He minces her organs into a pie and bakes a crust thickened with her teeth, keeps only her canines inside her skull. The glaze of amniotic fluid is combined with the stock to create a salty reduction, and he uses it to cook rice in, creating a bed of it for her flesh.

The offering is small; she didn't yield enough to comfortably fill both of them on her own, but it's a perfect portion for a single alpha. He warms up leftover steak with salad for Will, and plates it with the save reverent care with which he plates the remains of their daughter.

He gives Will wine. By the time he returns with the plates of food, Will has finished his first glass and poured himself a second. When they came home, Will wanted whiskey, wanted to drink himself into oblivion.

Said, bitter and halting and eyes shining with tears; "It's not like I'm gonna have to worry about breastfeeding."

He sits, and Will eyes his plate like it might rise up and bite him. Hannibal takes the first piece, slicing some of her parmesan-crusted flesh, dipping it in the sauce, brings it to his lips and takes his first bite.

Will chokes, like the food is in his mouth. "How does…?" He stops, swallows, clenches his jaw. "Is she good?"

Hannibal swallows his mouthful, and says, "Yes." Sorrow and pity will not allow him to lie.

Will nods, his fingers white around the stem of his wine glass. "I'm glad," he rasps.

Hannibal sighs through his nose, setting his knife and fork down. "I don't have to do this now," he says quietly.

"No, I -." Will swallows, looks away. "I don't want her to go to waste."

"Will -."

"I meant it. I know why you have to. It's…closure, for you. But it's not for me. I can't –. I don't have any." His eyes brighten, grow wet with tears his pride will not let him shed. Not yet. He presses his lips together and rubs a hand over his stomach, still tender and sagging a little from the outward swell that once held their child.

Hannibal cannot deny it. Sating his hunger with their daughter is as close as he'll ever get to holding her like Will did; in his belly, where he can keep her warm and safe.

"Is there anything I can do, to help?" Hannibal murmurs.

"No," Will replies, and shakes his head. "No, I don't think there is."

Hannibal sighs again, taking up his utensils. He's glad, at least, to see Will start eating, though he doesn't manage to stomach much but a few greens and a single bite of steak. He seems to be favoring wine as his source of nourishment, and Hannibal will do his best to make sure his mate does not become a drunk, but for now, they can both forgive each other their proclivities, if only for a night.

Will shifts his weight, wincing at the tenderness of his own body, and gives Hannibal an apologetic look. "I think I'm just going to go to bed," he says. He hates wasting food, but the steak will keep, he knows that.

He nods, and kisses Will's hand when Will reaches for him, cups Will's wrist and lifts his chin as Will places a single, chaste kiss to his forehead. Will has been too sore and too shaken for them to be carnally intimate, but that in no way means they are not both still as tactile and loving as ever, trading tender touches and warm, lingering kisses that taste of Will's tears.

"I love you, Will," Hannibal murmurs when Will withdraws.

Will smiles, sweet and slight, his lashes wet with tears as he thumbs over Hannibal's cheekbone. "I love you too," he replies, and kisses Hannibal's forehead again. "Don't stay up too late."

"Of course."

Will leaves, and heads upstairs, his gait slow and steady, wary of moving his body the wrong way or forcing it to push past its limits. Hannibal listens to him, until he hears the bedroom door shut and the wash of water that is Will starting a bath or shower.

He sighs, and turns his attention back to his meal. The sauce has soaked through the cheese and the pastry of the pie, turning it all into a stringy mesh of flavors – not unpleasant, but the flesh no longer holds the crispness it attained while being baked. Hannibal savors every bite, closes his eyes and imagines the little girl that never was. She may have gained Will's eyes, his wild hair. Hannibal's nose, his lips, his teeth. He cannot possibly imagine she would have been any less fierce and beautiful than her mother. She would have conquered the world.

It's over too soon and leaves Hannibal with a full belly and aching chest. He stands, clearing away Will's plate and washing the dishes, wiping down the kitchen until everything is a sparkling sheen. He puts the rest of the wine in the fridge and leaves the glasses and plates on the strainer to dry.

Normally, he would retire to the study to wind down, but the idea of being apart from his mate causes that ache in his chest to snarl and riot within him. He goes upstairs, finding the bedroom dark, a light coming from their cracked bathroom door, the fan whirring. He goes to the bathroom, finds Will almost entirely submerged in their big, deep tub, his head out of the water and leaning back on the rim, his hands flattened on the edge.

The water is a subtle shade of pink, because Will still has occasional bloody discharge, but it's not nearly so red as it could be, and for that Hannibal is glad.

Will's lashes flutter, his eyes open as Hannibal's scent reaches him. "Would you like to be alone?" Hannibal asks.

Will presses his lips together, shakes his head. His eyes are red-rimmed and his cheeks are flushed, from both the heat of the water, and his tears. He reaches, and Hannibal goes to him, kneeling down and taking his hand in both his own, kissing Will's knuckles. He smells of warm water and fresh earth, something ready to be ploughed and seeded. The ache in his chest is almost unbearable now.

"Do you want to get in with me?" Will asks. He can probably feel how much Hannibal wants to. His mate sees everything, can likely feel Hannibal's need for closeness like an itch under his skin. Something that bids the omega in him spread and bare whatever inches of skin Hannibal wishes to kiss or touch.

Hannibal sighs, and gives him a weak smile. "I shouldn't," he murmurs. One thing always leads to another, with them.

Will's brow arches, his fingers tighten. "I'm not gonna break, baby," he says, gentle as a mother. He would have made such a good mother. "Come on. Get in the bath with me."

Hannibal is helpless to disobey him. As much as he is alpha, controls the home and his mate and has the social standing in the world, Will is his master, his beautiful, perfect counterpart. Hannibal would bring the moon crashing down on their heads if it made Will smile.

He stands, shedding his clothes quickly and placing them on the counter. Will moves forward, giving him room to climb in behind him, and twists in his arms, so that he can rest curled up against Hannibal's chest, cheek on his shoulder, legs entwined.

It is not unlike, he thinks, how he might have held their daughter, close to his chest and protecting her from nightmares. He closes his eyes and buries his nose in his mate's hair, breathing in deeply.

Will hums, tapping his fingers in an arrhythmic pattern on Hannibal's chest. "I can smell her on your breath," he murmurs.

Hannibal's lips purse. "Does it bother you?"

"No," Will says, and sounds surprised. "It makes me feel…settled. Knowing she's inside you." His hand skates down, beneath the surface of the water, fingers spreading wide on Hannibal's belly. "I know you'll protect her better than I did."

"Will," Hannibal breathes, struck sharply at how sad he sounds.

"Sorry," Will murmurs. His lashes are damp again, and he closes his eyes, sighing. "I don't know why I said that."

His hand drops further, brushing over Hannibal's cock, and Hannibal tenses, reaching down to stop him grabbing. "Will -."

"I can't stand being so empty," Will rasps, weakly, his voice little more than a growl. "I can't -. I'm still making milk, Hannibal, how fucked up is that? And I still…feel her. Moving around like a fucking phantom limb. I can't get rid of it no matter how much I want to."

"I wish I could help you with that," Hannibal admits. "But I don't think it's wise to -."

Will huffs a bitter, short laugh, and releases Hannibal's cock. He lifts his head, shifts his weight and moves so that he's straddling Hannibal's thighs. He's a warm weight, and just the sight of him stirs Hannibal's instinctive response, despite the clamoring in his head reminding him that his mate is sore and sad and this isn't _wise_.

"I wish I had eaten with you," Will admits, cupping his cheek. He leans down and breathes in at Hannibal's mouth, eyes dark. He licks Hannibal's lower lip, sighs when Hannibal tries to chase him for a kiss. "She's part of you, too. I shouldn't reject any part of you. I don't want to."

"It wasn't a rejection," Hannibal says, quick to reassure. His hands flatten on Will's hips, thumbs rubbing along the stretch marks that had just started to form above them. Will whines, swallowing harshly, presses his lips together and covers his mouth with a shaking, wet hand.

"Just touch me," he begs. "Please, please, just…."

Hannibal nods, and pulls Will in by the nape, nudges his fingers apart so he can kiss his mate. Will tastes of wine and tears, a sob shaking him apart as he parts his lips and lets Hannibal taste him. His other hand slides to Will's cock, feels it harden at his touch, Will rutting against his palm immediately, eager to chase any sensation that isn't the chasmic void left behind by their daughter inside him.

Will grinds against him, pawing at Hannibal's shoulder, dropping his head so their foreheads rut against each other as Hannibal kisses him. He trembles, scent growing sweet with arousal, as lovely as he has always been, a gluttonous creature. Hannibal supposes he shouldn't be surprised that Will is trying to temper his sorrow with sex; it fits his pathology. He would do anything to feel good when everything else is forbidding him do it.

He strokes Will's cock, helpless but to respond to his mate's soft moans and frantic gasps. Will's nipples grow dark, beading with milk, and Hannibal pushes him upright so he can lean in and steal a taste for himself. It seems right, to take the nourishment that was saved for their daughter. Will cups his head, eager to let Hannibal nurse, his hips giving juddering little thrusts into Hannibal's hand as Hannibal sucks him dry.

Will reaches down between them, grips Hannibal's cock, tenses his thighs and lifts so he can angle it between his legs. Hannibal lets out a growl of warning, baring his teeth, but Will is not one to be deterred. He's swollen and sore and slick as he parts for Hannibal, and Hannibal's nostrils flare at the scent of fresh blood as his cock rips his mate's healing body apart.

He gasps, head tilted back, blinking up at Will as Will sinks down onto him. "Darling, don't," he murmurs.

Will shakes his head, bares his teeth, tears shining in his eyes. "I want you inside me," he replies harshly. He sinks down all the way, and Hannibal is in no position to move him, for Will is strong, just as strong as he is, and would fight him if he tried. The cavernous opening of his cervix is a raw reminder of their loss, an almost hysterically awful counterpoint to how tightly the rest of his muscles grip Hannibal.

"Is there anything left of her?" Will asks, eyes closed.

"I saved her skull," Hannibal replies. "And there's a dessert I made from her eyes."

Will whimpers, and nods. "Share it with me?"

"Of course, darling, of course."

For all his drive and forcefulness, Will cannot make himself move once Hannibal is fully sheathed. His cockhead nudges Will's tender opening, spreading him far too wide. There's fresh red in the water and Hannibal licks over the mating mark on Will's neck, brings him close and helps him move, stroking Will's cock and teasing at his leaking nipples as Will whines and writhes above him.

"I love you so much," Will gasps, his voice so raw it's like he's flayed the innards of his throat with gravel. His nails tighten on Hannibal's nape. "And I loved her, so much. I always will."

"As will I," Hannibal whispers, swears. He drags his hand down Will's back, flattens on his tailbone, eases him into another grinding thrust.

Will whimpers when he comes, his body so sore that every clench makes him flinch. He bares his teeth against Hannibal's throat and bites hard enough to shed blood. Preparing himself for more pain; he wants Hannibal's knot, that much is painfully obvious.

He should stop. He should warn Will; knotting him so soon after his body's trauma is insanity, and Will could get pregnant again, even so soon. The sweetness of his scent hints at his body's stubborn cling to fertility.

"Don't you dare pull out," Will snarls, before he can say anything.

"Will -."

"No, Hannibal. I swear to God I'll kill you if you stop now."

Hannibal cannot help smiling. So fierce, so demanding. Will can even make his own suffering so beautiful.

"I won't," he promises, feeling Will go lax, sweet again, licking over his neck in plaintive, wide kisses as Hannibal slides both hands to his hips, working Will on his cock. His orgasm comes slowly, dragged by its teeth, but it comes, because Hannibal is as helpless to resist Will now as he has always been.

Will cries out in pain as his knot swells, locking them together. Whimpers and bites when Hannibal comes inside him. Clenches his fist and presses it against his stomach as though daring his body to catch again.

Hannibal pets him, soothing him with long kisses and tender brushes of his fingers over Will's sensitive nipples. Will buries his face in Hannibal's neck, and sobs.


End file.
